Coffee Shop Commiseration
by quack675
Summary: Missing scene inspired by "Chase, find some way for the mother to get lost for a while." -- House in The Jerk. Chase/Enid


_AN: This is dedicated to... you know you who are! :) And to everyone else waiting for updates on a different story... sorry. I have too many ideas in my head at once. _

**"Chase, find some way for the mother to get lost for a while." -- House. _The Jerk. _**

"Have there been any changes?"

It was the question every worried family member asked at this point. Enid was no different than any other fretting mother, except she hoped her child was sick so that curing his illness might do something to cure his personality problems as well.

Chase could see her self-loathing though. He had been there. "No. He's stable and we're working on the case. Dr. Cameron and I have been checking for genetic disorders."

"Oh," Enid looked down, probably blaming herself for the possibility of passing on a few bad genes.

"I actually came to check on _you,_" Chase told her, his voice soft with empathy.

"Me?" she asked.

Chase could sense that she was a woman who was not accustomed to anyone caring about her. Her son was a self-absorbed jerk who treated her with contempt. Odds were, the boy's behavior had alienated anyone who dared to step into Enid's life. "Yes, you. You're tired. You need to take a break." He could have been talking about her stint in the hospital or he could have been talking about her role as mother.

"Oh," she hesitated. "I can't leave him."

"Sure you can," Chase encouraged her.

"What if something happens while I'm gone?" she quizzed.

"We'll call you," he promised.

"I don't know."

"He could tell the idea of a break appealed to her, but she felt duty bound to be near her son.

"I'll tell you what," Chase started, looking at his watch. "How about we both take a break? I need some coffee. Real coffee. Not that swill that comes out of those vending machines. There's a little shop around the corner from the hospital and the fresh air will do us both some good. Come on." He jerked his head to one side, indicating for her to follow him. "If anything happens, they'll page me."

Chase led Enid to the elevator and out of the hospital. The nighttime spring air was a refreshing change from the cold winter that had finally come to an end. "Are you hungry?" Chase asked. "They have great muffins and passable scones."

"Now that you mention it, I'm starving," Enid answered.

"How do you like your coffee?"

"Oh, just plain old black coffee," she replied, sounding almost embarrassed by the simplicity of her taste.

"Really?" Chase asked. "No cappuccinos or lattes for you?"

"No," she smiled. "Just black."

"Decaf?"

"What's the point?"

"My sentiments exactly," Chase laughed, flashing a bright smile.

Had he been paying more attention to Enid and less attention to the crosswalk, he would have seen her blushing.

Chase held the door for Enid as he ushered her inside the tiny coffee shop. "Why don't you grab a table for us?" he suggested. "Black coffee. Would you like a muffin or pastry? My treat."

"Oh, no thank you."

"You said you were hungry," he reminded her.

She reached for her purse and unzipped it. "I'd like a blueberry muffin," she said, offering him a ten dollar bill.

Chase took the money, folded it in half and dropped it back into her open purse. "There's an open booth," he said, nodding toward a table that two other patrons had just left. He dashed to the service counter giving Enid no time to argue about funding.

"One blueberry muffin and a boring black coffee," he announced, setting the items on the table. He had gotten a white chocolate caramel latte and a harvest muffin for himself.

"Thank you," Enid said quietly.

As she made eye contact, Chase could see her eyes were swimming with tears. "Don't cry," he told her. "We'll figure out what's wrong with your son," he promised despite knowing that he should never make such a vow. It was hard to not want to say what she needed to hear. "House is the best doctor for this kind of case. You'll see."

Enid smiled just a little. "It's not that," she said. "This is the first nice thing that anyone has done for me in years."

"Coffee and a muffin?" Chase asked her. "Come on. You're a lovely woman. Men should be falling over themselves to do nice things for you."

"Until they meet Nate," she sighed, confirming his earlier suspicions. "I gave up on finding anyone else after he scared off the sixth really nice guy that I brought home to meet him. Maybe when he leaves for college," she said, leaving the door open for hope.

"He is scary," Chase agreed.

Enid laughed. "And you've met him, but you're being nice to me anyway." She caught herself. "Oh, not that I think you're hitting on me," she blushed brightly.

Chase smiled. "You remind me of my mother," he said, then immediately realized those were not the words middle aged women longed to hear from the doctors of their teenaged sons. "I mean, Nate reminds me of my mother." He shook his head, getting flustered at his own admission. He composed himself. "What I mean is you remind me of me, only you're taking care of your son and I had to take care of my Mum. And I know where you're coming from when you said you hate yourself for hating him because I hated myself for hating my Mum, even if she did treat me like crap. When you said you that, I got it. I've been there."

Enid patted his hand that was lying casually beside his coffee cup. "Why did you have to take care of your mother?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."

"You're not old enough for anything to have been a long time ago," Enid observed.

"You're not going to start calling me _Skippy_, are you?" Chase asked.

Enid laughed. "No. I promise. No _Skippy_." Her mirth disappeared quickly. "I'm sorry about Nate and the way he's behaved toward you and the others."

"It's not your fault," Chase assured her.

"Isn't it?" she asked. "Maybe if I'd been more strict. Maybe I should have beaten the living daylights out of him a few times and he would have learned to not backtalk."

Chase shifted uncomfortably, pulling his hand away from the comfortable contact they had established. His unguarded reaction said more than he realized.

"I'm sorry," Enid apologized. "You know I don't mean that, don't you?" She sighed. "I just know I went wrong somewhere. Maybe the time-outs and the taking away privileges weren't enough."

"Or maybe he's just a jerk," Chase suggested. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Enid shrugged. "Maybe he _is_ just a jerk."

They sipped coffee and nibbled on their muffins for a few minutes before Enid broke the silence. "Your mom must've been very difficult to live with if Nate reminds you of her."

He shrugged. "She… had a mean streak," he admitted. "And she was sick."

"And being sick made her meaner?" Enid guessed.

"I like to think so," Chase answered. "Like you with Nate. If you can believe he's cruel because of his illness, then it's not something about _you_ that makes him be that way."

Enid nodded, letting tears slip from her eyes. "You really do understand."

"Don't cry," Chase said, offering her a napkin. She took the napkin, but her tears flowed more freely.

Chase moved from his seat across from her to sit down on her side of the booth. "It's going to get better," he said, wrapping one arm around her.

Enid turned to him, falling into the comfort he offered. "It's just so hard," she said. "He hates me. He blames me for everything that doesn't go his way. He speaks to me--you wouldn't talk to a mangy dog the way he talks to me. He says I'm stupid, a fat ugly cow, worthless. I try so hard to be the kind of mother he needs."

"I know you do," Chase said, patting her back. "He doesn't realize how lucky he is." Chase realized that he actually envied the brat.

"I'm so sorry," Enid apologized, wiping her eyes on the crumpled napkin Chase had given her.

"It's okay," Chase assured her. "You need to let it out."

"I really hope that whatever is wrong with him can be fixed. I want him to change."

"He sounds like a nightmare," Chase said. "He's verbally abusive toward you," he stated, giving her no room to protest. "Does it go further than that?" He was sure of one thing: sick or not, if Nate was hurting his mother, she deserved protection and Chase would find a way to secure that for her.

"Oh, no! No! Not at all!" Enid proclaimed. "Nate would never hurt me," she contended. "Physically."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"I am."

Chase nodded. Her countenance was similar to the way it had been when she had admitted that she hoped Nate was sick. He believed her. "He doesn't have the right to speak to you that way."

"I can't do anything about it."

"Maybe I can," Chase offered. "We have a number of psychiatrists on staff. I can make a referral."

"He wouldn't go."

"I can prescribe something for him myself as part of his treatment. I know he's smart enough to look up whatever he's prescribed and he'll probably be resistant to taking anything, but we can start him on a proper regimen after we find the diagnosis for his other problems. I can certainly refer him to the psych ward based on the anger issues he had prior to his admission. They can keep him for a month and ensure that he takes the medication properly. If his condition is one that will respond to medication, he may be more inclined to stay on the meds once they're in his system and making a difference. I can't guarantee you that he can change. He really might just be a jerk. But we can at least take this opportunity to try."

"Thank you so much!" Enid gushed, starting to cry again. "You can't imagine how much this means to me.

"Yeah, I think I can," Chase told her, recalling the days when he had longed for a pill or patch or _something_ that would end his mother's addiction and bring back the person she had been prior to her fall into alcoholism. He also knew well from experience that rehab failed more than it succeeded. A month or so in a treatment facility might help some people change, but others were too deeply entwined with their addiction or behaviors to ever really let them go.

Enid could detect the subtle way that Chase's eyes darkened when he thought of the pain of whatever he had dealt with in caring for his mother. She placed her palm softly on his cheek. "You asked me if Nate hurt me. Now I'm asking you if your mother hurt you."

Chase tried to turn away from her, but the soft pressure of her hand kept him facing forward. "It was a long time ago," he repeated. His mind wandered to that time. He wondered if things would have been different if anyone had cared enough to ask that question so many years ago.

"Not long enough," Enid said.

"No, not long enough," Chase agreed. He was not so sure that time really did heal all wounds. Some were too deep to fix and too painful to forget. He placed his hand over hers. "But it gets better, at least enough to move forward. Trust me on that one." His eyes were locked with hers. At that moment neither of them heard the sounds of the customers around them, the clanking of mugs against saucers, or even the mellow music playing on the speakers above them.

There was only the two of them and the strange kinship they had forged, something neither ever would have expected or even believed would be possible.

Chase felt more vulnerable than he had in years. The conversation had brought up memories that he chose to ignore the majority of the time. Even if he had said very little, he knew that Enid _knew_. She knew more than House, more than Foreman, and, sadly, more than even Cameron, the person he wished cared enough to see him the way Enid was seeing him right now.

"She was fool to not see you for the treasure you are," Enid told him.

"I could say the same for your son."

Enid lightly stroked Chase's cheek with her other hand. "If only things were different," she whispered.

Chase blinked several times. He felt as if he had no control over his own body. Enid was leaning toward him and he was leaning toward her and their lips met.

They shared just a moment, a sweet stolen instant when the world around them disappeared and two souls found solace in the camaraderie of commiseration. Neither had any expectations for anything more to come of it. They shared a basic need to overcome empty loneliness. Guileless human contact was something lacking in both of their lives, but, at that moment, they could be exactly what each other needed.

It seemed that Enid pulled away as soon as she made contact, "I'm so sorry," she said.

They turned away from each other, breaking any contact. "I'm sorry," Chase also apologized.

"I shouldn't have," they both said. Neither could help but smile just a little.

"It's okay," Chase told her and himself. "We didn't do anything wrong."

Enid laughed, "I'm a mother who needs a son and you're a son who needs a mother."

"No," Chase protested. "You're a woman who needs to be appreciated and I'm a man who can tell a good thing when he finds it."

Enid looked as if she might cry again. "You don't see through a mother's eyes. You _are_ a son who cared for someone who didn't care enough about you in return. _I_ know a good thing when I see it. Don't let whatever your mother did to you keep you from believing in yourself and the kind of love you deserve. You should have all the love that you didn't receive from her. Don't settle for anything less."

Her words resonated in Chase's mind. Did he really deserve better than that? Maybe he even deserved better than someone who had no faith in him and no idea what kind of person he really was. If Enid was right, he was selling himself short. He looked down at his watch. "We should probably get back to the hospital," he suggested. It was getting late. It definitely was not Tuesday anymore.


End file.
